


Renewal

by Illegible_Scribble



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:26:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble
Summary: Frodo's fears of being alone on the Shire's courtship day, Renewal, are put to rest by the arrival of an unexpected face.





	Renewal

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!

Renewal was a day marked on Shire calendars to celebrate the return of spring, and in more recent years it had developed into an occasion for young lads and lasses of courting age to show their fancies. The simplest gesture was often to give the admired person a bouquet of flowers – called a 'favor' – and if the admired reciprocated the feelings, they would give a favor in return.

It wasn't uncommon for whatever vigorous and amorous fever that afflicted the youth to spread to those Of Age and beyond, and often on Renewal – which fell on the 15th of Rethe – older couples could be seen settled together on picnics or going for strolls with matching corsages and boutonnières.

Frodo had grown up with these springtime customs, and had been well acquainted with the giving and receiving of favors in the hale of his youth at Brandy Hall, though less so once he'd moved to Bag End. In those early years, he could recall having been rather proud of the flower bundles he'd put together, or received, for the attraction of their colors and their meanings, but it had been a very long while since he'd last touched such a thing.

Somehow, he did not expect he would again.

He stood from the paper-strewn desk he'd been bent over for hours, straining to ease the crick that had developed in his back. To unfamiliar eyes it would've been an indecipherable pile of unremarkable papers, but Frodo knew them at a glance. They were organized, and were either memoirs (his own, or others) or official documents concerning his current position as Deputy Mayor. By now he was weary of scanning construction contracts and trying to balance someone else's chequebook. His current surroundings in truth didn't help his weariness, for as kind as the Cottons were to put him up after the Scouring – while Bag End was under reconstruction – he had never known them very well, and it felt odd to be staying so long under their roof.

He rolled up his sleeves, slowly, sorting through his thoughts. He began to wander towards the door of the room he'd been so graciously given, and his eyes fell wistfully on the cot that sat against the wall opposite his bed. Sam had been staying at the Cottons' as well until reconstruction of Bagshot Row and Bag End had finished, and at his gentle insistence was allowed to stay in Frodo's room - “For the sake of me Master, you see; he's been through a world of hurt, and needs me as often as possible.”

Of course, the cot had never actually been slept in, though at times Frodo worried he and Sam were not subtle enough to go undetected by the Cottons – especially their daughter, Rosie. Since the Field of Cormallen Frodo and Sam had been sharing a bed, and once they'd settled in Minas Tirith, that sharing extended to their bodies. Following that, they'd suffered no parting for months, until returning to the Shire: what Frodo had hoped would be home and a final rest – only to discover it in shambles.

Sam had left at the beginning of Rethe to attend the beginning of many various projects to replant the torn earth, and he wasn't expected back for some days yet. Though, before his departure, Sam had given Frodo the stuffed bear he'd had when he was a child – Beorn – as a temporary cuddle companion, Frodo still missed Sam himself terribly. There was a particular ache in his heart today – though he'd been missing Sam all month – for it being Renewal, while his love was across the Shire, and the likes of Marigold and Tolman were able to proudly wear their favors in the market, and Mr. and Mrs. Cotton had shared loving looks all day.

Frodo would've freely counted himself envious and bitter were he not so tired – and of more than paperwork. The anniversary of the wound he suffered from Shelob was fast approaching, and on the heels of that, the destruction of the Ring. For the pain he'd suffered as they passed Weathertop in Winterfilth on the journey home, what he would feel within the next week terrified him. Especially as he would be alone.

A sudden outbreak of chattering voices and clattering cookware from the kitchen pulled Frodo from the sinking abyss of his thoughts, and he roused himself as best he could to a cheerful disposition as he went out to help with dinner.

Marigold and Tolman were apparently out on the town for the evening, which was some relief to Frodo to not be near the cheerful glow of someone happy and in love while he was left without. As he entered the kitchen, a brush was put into his hand, and he was cheerfully directed to scrubbing vegetables in the sink while the rest of the family bustled around him. He and Tolman Sr. spoke of the weather and projected welfare of the year's crops, and learned from Nick and Nibs that in spite of the rough treatment the Cottons' animals had endured during Saruman's occupation, calving season was shaping up to be as good as it had ever been. A fractional weight slid from Frodo's shoulders to be able to think that perhaps the Shire really was beginning to heal.

He finished washing the vegetables and moved on to chopping them as Mrs. Cotton filled him in on the recent doings of Hobbiton's gammers, when Nibs – who had been sent out to gather some firewood – ran in with a clatter (lacking the firewood), shouting, “Bless me, ol' Sam's back!” The kitchen fell quiet, and Frodo was certain his and Rosie's ears were the most keenly pricked in the room.  
“Well,” said Mrs. Cotton, breaking the momentary silence by putting her hands on her hips and giving her youngest son a disapproving look, “get on wi' stablin' his pony an' whatever else he needs, ya silly lad!”

“Aye, Mum!” Nibs vanished back out the kitchen door as quickly as he'd appeared, while Frodo found himself struggling to recall how to breathe. There was a sudden lightness to the whole of him, and his throat convulsed in an attempted swallow, reality at the moment not seeming all together real. He had been quite assured of enduring the next week in continued loneliness, and a feeling in his chest moved tears to his eyes for this not to be so.

Unsteadily he began his chopping again, vaguely aware of Rosie to his right halfheartedly stirring a pot over the hearth as she leaned to peer out the door.

Lost in his thoughts, Frodo couldn't tell whether a long time or a short time had passed, when another small commotion came from outside, and the door opened again, Nibs hurrying past with a bundle of travel bags – and after him, a dusty and weary-looking Sam. But Sam nevertheless, and a glow lit in his eyes as they met Frodo's. Seeing that glow sent a light, giddy feeling to Frodo's head, and a weakness to his knees that only Sam could ever inspire.

As was polite, Sam shook hands with Tolman Sr. and was subjected to a hug and kisses on the cheeks from Lily, before greeting the younger Cottons with hugs and claps on the back. He came to Rosie nearly last, and greeted her as he had her mother (leaving her looking faintly disappointed), before nearing Frodo, who was trembling and knew his eyes were misting.

Sam's arms tightening around him was like stepping over the threshold into home.

Sam _was_ home.

Perhaps their embrace went overlong, and it was a strange sight to the Cottons for Frodo to bury his nose in Sam's shoulder, but no one said a word. “Well, you're back from afar earlier than we was expectin', my lad,” Tolman Sr. finally said, prompting Sam and Frodo to step apart, though they touched noses briefly and shared a smile of delight, and Sam did not leave Frodo's side.

“Aye, indeed, Sir. Turns out the Brandybucks've been workin' on a refurbishin' plan all their own, an' they was already underway a'time I got there from Budgeford.” This was met by a handful of blinks and kind but not understanding smiles. As Sam had been less than two years ago, the Cottons were only familiar with the land in an approximate ten mile radius around Hobbiton, and maps meant little enough to them that none were kept in the house. “They's all doin' well.” Sam summarized in brief, “An' won't be needin' me for a few weeks at least.”

“Well, glad to have you back, Sam.” Lily remarked pleasantly. “We was all just workin' on dinner; if you's want to go an' get settled in...”

“Nay, t'is only proper I should be a help if I'm gonna be eatin'.” Sam gave her a winning smile, and began to take off his coat, which Rosie hastened to take and settle appropriately on the coat hanger.

In a few minutes following Sam's surprise arrival, under Mrs. Cotton's tried and true leadership, progress on dinner resumed smoothly, and Sam was briefly assigned to helping Frodo finish chopping the vegetables. “Hello,” said Frodo, quietly, feeling shy in his giddiness and unable to stop smiling, “I missed you.”

Sam gently bumped his arm against Frodo's; unfortunately anything more would've been unsuitable for the kitchen, and in further propriety kept his voice soft. “I missed you, too. Been holdin' up all right?”

Frodo's hands stilled, and he thought over his answer. “I've been keeping busy. And though the Cottons are lovely and utterly too kind, I have missed you very much.”

Sam smiled, and it was his most wonderful smile, like a ray of sunlight breaking through a haze of clouds. “Well, you have me again, I'm thinkin' for at least the week.”

Frodo's smile returned, and he realized his cheeks were beginning to hurt. “That sounds nice.”

“Aye, it does.”

 

Though Sam had been an unexpected mouth at the table, there was plenty of food to go around, and though he listened more than he spoke, it was the happiest Frodo had felt at dinner since Sam had left.

The hour after the meal had finished was late, and as farmers it was their wont to rise with – or preferably, before – the sun, and good nights were bid after the dishes had been cleaned. Sam put water on to heat for bathing, and finally he and Frodo were able to retire to their room.

Sam's back closed the door behind them, as Frodo pressed him against it and kissed him hard. Two weeks apart had left them starving for one another's touch and taste, and for several minutes they only kissed, until at last Frodo pressed his face against Sam's bare neck and sighed contentedly. “I'm glad you're back.” he murmured, fumbling with one hand to undo the top buttons of Sam's shirt to expose his shoulder.

Sam, in kind, untucked the back of Frodo's shirt and slipped his hand up and under it, setting Frodo's skin tingling where he touched. “An' I'm glad to be back wi' you,” he said into Frodo's hair.

“Were the Brandybucks really all right without you,” Frodo asked, straightening and pressing harder against Sam, as Sam's hand drew farther up his back, “or... did you come back early some other way?” Frodo had confidence in the competence of his mother's family, but he felt – perhaps out of bias, he admitted – there was no one finer to make a plan for their plants than Sam. Without him, Frodo thought they were likely lost.

“The Brandybucks really are fine,” Sam assured him, “Master Rorimac's got a good plan, an' Mister Merry's doin' well seein' it carried out. Wi' a few trees I did give a pinch of the Lady Galadriel's soil, but they weren't needin' me for naught more over there.”

Frodo smiled, and wrapped his arms snugly around Sam. “Well, I'm glad they've got things well in hand, then. … And even better I've got you for Renewal.”

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed, subsequently making a distressed noise as he realized he'd have to disentangle himself from Frodo, “Speakin' of Renewal, I almost plum forgot.” Though neither were all together happy, Frodo and Sam did separate themselves, while Sam went to one of his bags, which Nibs had set at the foot of the bed. After a few moments of careful rummaging, Sam withdrew two utterly surprising things.

In one hand, Sam held a bouquet – slightly crumpled, but otherwise beautiful – of white, red and pink camellias, paired with calla and white peace lilies.

In the other, a small woven basket, filled with mushrooms.

Both hands he held out to Frodo, blushing. “Happy 'Newel, Frodo-love. Sorry it's as almost late, an' the flowers all crinkled, but I was in a right rush to make it at all, y'see.”

“Oh,” it was hardly more than a breath, “oh, my dearest Sam.” Frodo's vision blurred with tears, and he took the favor with as much reverence as the basket. “How did you come by these?”

“As I rode into town, askin' Gammer Willowvine awful nice at the florist's if she could spare me one more bouquet afore the day was done. The mushrooms are courtesy o' the Maggots again.” Frodo blinked in surprise. “The ol' farmer was up at Brandy Hall t'see the Master while I was, an' he'd brought some baskets to hand out as gifts while he was there. We ran into each other, an' unlike some 'round these parts, he's heard a' all we done Out There, an' he's mighty grateful. This basket, he asked me to take back to you, wi' all love n' thanks from him n' his kin.”

Frodo sat down on the bed, holding the bouquet against his chest and the basket in his lap. “Thank you,” he managed after a moment, beginning to shudder with oncoming tears, “thank you both so very much. These are incredibly beautiful.”

Sam kissed the top of his head, before sitting down beside him and pulling him close with an arm. “You're welcome, me dear. An' thank you.” he found Frodo's left, four-fingers hand, and kissed it. “T'is all the least I can do for you.”

“Perhaps, yet it still means the world to me.” Frodo kissed Sam's cheek, and shortly thereafter rose to seek out a vase from the kitchen (dutifully taking the basket with him and snacking on its contents as he went).

Upon his return, he found Sam had filled the tub in the adjoining room, and looked at him expectantly as Frodo arranged the vase on the nightstand. “I'm guessin' you haven't bathed yet?” Sam asked him.

“No, but I think it fairer if you go first. You've been on the road all day, and I haven't.” Sam appeared ready to offer some objection to this, but didn't press the issue as Frodo began helping him out of his clothes.

Unlike Bag End (which was fully fitted with indoor plumbing besides), the Cottons had no bathtub large enough to fit two hobbits. During their stay in Minas Tirith – which had tubs fit for noble Men, more than twice the size needed for any one hobbit alone – Frodo and Sam had grown quite fond of shared baths, and had returned to the Shire with some distress to find this wouldn't be possible again for a while yet.

The patchwork solution they'd settled on, in the meantime while Bag End and its two-hobbit bathtub were inaccessible, was one of them would settle on a stool beside the tub, and wash the other's hair and back, somewhat as they'd used to when both of them could be in the tub at once.

Frodo took up that position now, as Sam eased into the steaming water. The following while was a pleasantly quiet relief from the bustle of the kitchen and dinner, and Frodo was pleased for the peace of the room again, but now uplifted immeasurably with Sam's presence. Sam spoke in more detail of his trip to the North and East of the Shire, of the types of trees he'd planted and all the suggestions he'd made for gardens and crops, and how Fatty's extended family were doing and how worried they still were over his recovery from the Lockholes.

Frodo in kind relayed what news had happened while Sam had been away, which was little enough. Hobbiton was recovering steadily, and life seemed to have returned to rather what it had before any of the Quest had even begun. “Only,” Frodo's hands stilled in their work of lathering Sam's hair, “I get the feeling it's not quite for me any longer. I see it daily, and I can't understand it. Well- I can. I can understand how and why they're able to go back to their lives before, so quickly and with so little adjustment. I know I simply don't – and can't – think as they still do. And I'm afraid,” his voice grew quieter, “I'm afraid the pain of that will only increase in time.”

Sam sat up in the tub to turn as much as he could, and cupping Frodo's cheeks he brought their foreheads to touch. “An' I'm awful sorry I don't know a magic way of makin' it better,” he spoke slowly, carefully, “but I promise you it ain't all the same, or leastways I won't let it all be. Folks won't go forgettin' all that's happened, in the Shire or out of it. If you're feelin' out of place now, right enough I'll be makin' a place for you, an' I'll be right beside it.”

Frodo looked into Sam's large brown eyes, which glittered with adoration, determination, and tears of their own. “My dearest Sam. Your heart is so big I worry it might burst someday. I don't know if you _can_ make a place for me, as hard as you might try. The roots of the Shire are deep, and little about it is easily changed.”

“We done changed the world, once,” Sam's voice shook with fierceness and tears, “an' right enough we can change the Shire for the better, s'pecially if it's for your sake.”

Frodo kissed him gently and sweetly, and tasted salt on both their lips. “Very well, Love.” he murmured. “We'll try.”

 

Sam's bath was finished in relative quiet, but the mood lightened as he stepped out of the tub and Frodo began helping him dry. “For the week at least, you said?” Frodo asked, stealing kisses along Sam's damp skin in the wake of the towel he was using. “We have _two_ weeks to make up for, you know.”

“Mmhm,” Sam, with Frodo in attendance, actually could do very little for himself aside from stand there and revel in Frodo's touch, “but you're still in need of a bath.”

Frodo looked up at him with a pout on his lips, obviously disappointed in the thought of further delays. “Unfortunately true.”

“I put more water on afore mine. Ought to be right hot by now.” and it was. Much as Frodo had done for Sam, Sam now sat at the head of the tub, using his fingers to untangle the knots from Frodo's hair and lather in shampoo. During this, Frodo relayed to him the progress he'd made on Mayoral affairs, and was pleased to announce Will was beginning to feel well enough to attend to some of them himself. Nothing particularly strenuous, of course, but Frodo was glad to see this point of his recovery had finally happened.

In lower tones he also spoke of his work on the Red Book, and that he still had yet to write a single word on the book itself, far more concerned with organizing his notes and memoirs completely before running the risk of smearing Bilbo's book. Sam soothed him and kissed his shoulder, assuring him his work was coming along fine, and the Book would be ready for ink whenever Frodo was.

 

When Frodo stepped out of the tub, Sam was no less frisky than he had been drying the latter, though Sam was slightly slower and more precise. The final string of kisses he ran up and along Frodo's left arm, crossing over the Morgul wound before returning to Frodo's mouth and giving his hair a final ruffle with the towel. As they parted, Frodo was smiling. It looked fragile for his tears, but they were tears of gladness, tears only for the great time of pain he had known that mixed now with his joy. “I love you.” he said, and kissed his Sam.

They didn't stop kissing until the towel was long abandoned on the washroom floor, and the bed sheets in disarray with their entangled and squirming selves. They both were slick with oil from a brief spill when the bottle was opened, Sam on his back and Frodo straddling his hips, riding him in utter delight. Frodo loved this position most of all for being able to see Sam; he was able to see the pleasure they shared in Sam's face, and know it was _his_ doing that made Sam feel so wonderful.

Frodo hoped at least as wonderful as he felt, with one of Sam's hands stroking him while the other held his hip with a firm, steadying grip, and Sam's full length fitting so wonderfully tightly inside him with each drop of his hips.

For the sake of courtesy they struggled to contain their cries, and Frodo bit his forearm to smother his wail as overwhelming pleasure soon pulsed through him in waves, and he came on Sam's belly and chest. Sam, who was left bucking and straining and whimpering some moments longer beneath Frodo, until the whole of him seized, his back arching like a bow as Frodo felt Sam convulse and release inside him. Though Sam held his bottom lip so hard in his teeth to quell his wails, it was white, pleasure was still writ on every inch of his face as he filled Frodo with his seed, leaving Frodo in a euphoria he felt he could barely contain.

Moments after, Frodo slid off and collapsed gently beside Sam with a soft noise, before they both fumbled for towels kept in the nightstands to preserve the sheets.

By the time they were reasonably dry, the both of them were already drowsing and more than ready to drift off in one another's arms. Sam lay on his back again, while Frodo curled up against his right side, resting his head on Sam's shoulder and draping his arm over Sam's chest, while Sam drew up his own arm, wrapping it around Frodo's shoulders, and hugging him gently. “I do love you.” Frodo murmured. There had been a point in his life before, where he'd suddenly been deathly afraid he'd run out of time to tell Sam that even once. He made a point of saying it as often as he could, now.

“I love you as well, me dear.” Sam's voice rumbled in just chest like a small thunderstorm, and he pressed Frodo closer and kissed the top of his head. “Happy Renewal, Love.”

Frodo's gaze shifted to the vase on the nightstand, then briefly to the mushrooms which lay near it (two of which he grabbed). “What do they mean, then? The flowers, that is; I know the mushrooms mean 'love' and 'delicious'.” and to prove it, Frodo took one for himself and fed the other to Sam, who chuckled.

“Mostly that I think you're right perfect an' beautiful; an' I been missin' you; that you set a flame burnin' in me heart, an' that bein' wi' you is heaven.”

Frodo wondered if Sam could feel the heat growing on his cheeks. “Thank you. I've never gotten so fine a favor. Would it be silly if I got you a matching one tomorrow, though it would be late?”

Sam pressed him close again. “If you can stand mine bein' a bit crinkled, then a matchin' one t'morrow from you would make me the happiest Hobbit in the Shire.”

“Maybe only the second happiest,” said Frodo, trying not to cry as he placed a gentle kiss on Sam's neck, “as having you near makes me happier than I've ever known.”

“I gotta stay right beside you, then, 'til the end of me days, for I'm me happiest when you're your happiest.”

 

They fell into a peaceful sleep nestled together as they were, and no ill dreams nor fear of the future touched Frodo's slumber. Sam was with him, and he would be all right.

 


End file.
